What Days Are For
by Silverweaver
Summary: The real reason Ryan decided to charge up all those stairs in The Countdown instead of just waiting for the express elevator like a sane person. Set just after Chrismukkah. [One Shot. Edited & Reposted]


Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: One for the TWoPpers. I nag you because I love you, okay?  
Story History: Edited and re-posted 9th August 2004. Thank you to **elzed**, for quite correctly pointing out my historical boo-boo. My American history teachers are silently weeping in the corner.

* * *

As she walked through the reception of the Newport Group, Kirsten watched with more than a little disappointment as Ryan pulled his world famous disappearing act once again. Sure, technically he was still there, but he'd deliberately dropped a few paces behind her and let their conversation on Earnest Hemmingway versus F. Scott Fitzgerald drift into silence ten feet before they entered the building. She'd learned from their previous experiences of coming into the office that there was very little point in trying to get Ryan to relax whenever they stopped by, but that didn't mean she had to like it. It had been months since the fire at the development and despite the fact Kirsten and Sandy had made sure everyone knew that Ryan had been the victim, not the aggressor in the scenario, Ryan still remained subdued whenever he came within 100 feet of the offices or within 300 feet of Caleb. She just hoped that time would eventually set things right.

"Hey Maria," she called out to the receptionist, waving as they passed by on the way to the elevator.

"Good morning Mrs. Cohen, Ryan," the young woman replied cheerfully, with a small wave of her perfectly manicured hand.

"Hey," said Ryan bashfully, juggling the box of Kirsten's plans that he'd insisted on carrying to return the wave. The fact that Ryan looked down at the floor and shrank back into his hunch the second they were past the desk did not pass her by unnoticed.

"You know, when Seth was eleven, I practically had to ban him from this place," she said, trying to coax Ryan out of his shell as she pressed the call button on the elevator.

"Yeah?" asked Ryan, only too aware of what Kirsten was doing, answering more out politeness than actual interest.

"Uh-huh. He had this huge crush on the reception girl, Emma, I think her name was, or maybe Emily? Or was it Gemma?" Kirsten wondered aloud, before realizing that she was straying off topic, "Anyway, Seth kept faking being sick, so that I'd have to bring him in to work with him, then he'd spend the whole day trying to find excuses to come down here."

"Sounds like Seth," said Ryan, thinking of his friend's six year long unrequited love for Summer.

"It was kind of cute really. Except for the time when he wasn't faking and we sent him to school and it turned out to be measles."

"Nasty," said Ryan, shifting uneasily from foot to foot as he watched the floor indicator work it's way down closer to the ground floor.

"You had it?" asked Kirsten, noticing Ryan's twitching and trying to breeze past it.

"Measles?" he asked and Kirsten nodded.

"Not yet," said Ryan as the elevator moved its way down through the last ten floors, "Hey, you want to take the stairs?" he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Twenty-four floors, are you nuts?" asked Kirsten, her tone a little more sarcastic than she'd intended.

"I'm not a big fan of elevators," said Ryan, trying to shrug it off. Kirsten's demeanor softened as she read between the lines.

"Oh. Well, that's okay. You know if you want, you can wait down here and I'll just nip up to the office," she said as the elevator arrived with a ping and the doors opened revealing an empty compartment, "I'll only be five minutes."

Ryan glanced over to the waiting area in reception where an immaculately dressed businessman sat reading a financial magazine on the plush sofas. He looked down at his favorite battered jeans and sneakers from Chino and a shirt he'd swiped from Seth when he couldn't find a clean one of his own. Somehow he didn't think he'd fit in.

"You know what?" he said finally, "It's fine. It's not like the bottom's going to drop out and send us into a pool of sharks or anything, right?" Ryan asked, secretly believing that this might indeed be the case.

"Not unless Dad's been making some radical structural changes he hasn't told me about, no," said Kirsten smiling amiably at Ryan as she stepped inside the lift. After a last glance at the smart businessman, Ryan followed suit.

"Besides," said Kirsten as she pressed the button for their floor, "He spent all that money on putting in the flame pit under the conference room, there's no way he could afford to do sharks this month too. I mean the cost of food alone..."

"Right," smiled Ryan forcibly as the elevator doors slid closed, "Those things really eat a lot."

* * *

Fifteen minutes and a coffee and bagel raid on the conference room later, Kirsten and Ryan waited with their loot for the elevator to make its way back up to the top floor. Given how uncomfortable it made him, Kirsten usually didn't like to bring Ryan to the office, particularly if there was a risk of bumping into her father, but she was glad she had done so today. There had been no sign of Caleb, she'd shown him the models of the latest development and Ryan was even spontaneously grinning, something he wasn't fabulously well known for even after six months with the Cohens. A few more excursions like this and maybe he'd relax enough to answer the phone when it rang, or even something radical like talk to her or Sandy by choice when he needed advice, instead of making them wheedle the reason for his furrowed brow out of him.

It continued to be a long process of attrition to get him to open up with them. At first he simply wouldn't. He'd grunt, avoid the question, or provoke Seth into an ever-reliable stream of babbledom with a well-timed snark. As time went on, as Ryan started up school again and got settled in to a more recognizable daily routine, he'd volunteer information, but still only when asked. Unlike Seth, he did not have a story for every occasion, or if he did, he kept them firmly to himself. After all, as he'd demonstrated only last week when he'd shared a glimpse into his holiday memories, his pre-Cohen anecdotes were not exactly the stuff dreams were made of. Still, a new year and a new semester were just around the corner and Kirsten felt sure that if Ryan emerged from his shell at the same rate as he had done in the past six months, than it looked as though the die would be cast for a great summer.

As he waited with for the elevator that would get him out of his lest favorite place in Newport, Ryan was unaware of Kirsten's thoughts, or the fact that they were pretty much the opposite of his own. Throughout the course of the past six months living with the Cohens, Ryan had tried to be optimistic. After all, of the many scenarios that had raced through his head the night he'd spent in the juvenile detention center, the possibility of been taken into the care of his crazy public defender and his crazier family had definitely not been on of them. If his life could take such an upward turn so fast, then who knows where he might be in another six months time? Yet in spite of his good fortune in being assigned Sandy Cohen as a lawyer, lately Ryan had found himself getting more closed in, more cynical, just better at hiding it. He was unbelievably grateful for the kindness Kirsten, Sandy and Seth had all shown him, but he found it disconcerting. Living in Chino was difficult and had been getting harder. Yet for some reason, it was easy to imagine living a better life, even if the path to it wasn't clear. Living in Newport, Ryan was constantly aware of what he stood to lose; not only the big life-changing stuff like a prosperous future, tangible for the first time, but also the simple things like a house that didn't leak, filled with people who didn't leave.

It wasn't so long ago that Sandy had warned Ryan to watch his temper, because people were always watching them, waiting for one or the other of them to screw up. The idea that social services were hovering out there, just waiting to take it away this chance from him was ironically the one thing more than any other that had stopped Ryan from capitalizing on it. The idea that he might be taken away from the Cohen's for his own good made absolutely no sense to him and he doubted it ever would. Deep down, Ryan couldn't help but feel that no matter how much he wanted or tried to embrace his new life it could only ever be a temporary state of affairs. All he could he do now was make the most of it while it lasted.

"Earth to Ryan, come in Ryan," joked Kirsten, shaking him out of his reverie.

"Hmm?" Ryan looked up to see Kirsten smiling at him wryly, "Sorry, I was miles away."

"Bagel for your thoughts," she asked, offering him one of the two she'd wrapped up in a napkin to snaffle from the conference room.

"Thanks," Ryan said with a shake of his head, "I'm fine."

"You were miles away," said Kirsten, noticing a small shift towards tension in his body language, "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing," Ryan lied with practiced ease, before adding for safety's sake, "School."

"You were thinking about school? Three days before New Year's?" Kirsten asked skeptically.

"Uh-huh."

"Ryan, that's not normal," she teased.

"I know," he replied, pleased she had believed him, "We never had so much reading at Chino Hills. Mostly they were just pleased if you showed up. It's fine, I like Harbor," he added, seeing a brief but unmistakable look of concern flash across Kirsten's face, "It's a little weird, but I like it."

The elevator pinged to announce its arrival and they stepped inside.

"You sure?" asked Kirsten genuinely as she pressed the button for the lobby and the doors slid closed, "Because you know, Harbor's great but we wouldn't want you to go there just to... well, if it wasn't what you wanted."

"I know," Ryan said, understanding what Kirsten meant and feeling both surprised and touched by her words. Embarrassed, his gaze drifted to the floor, "But I do want it. Really." This time he wasn't lying, he did want Harbor and the opportunities it could potentially offer; he was just afraid to tell her how much.

"You would tell us, wouldn't you?" Kirsten said gently, "Because it's school; your education, well, it's your future. It's too important to do for someone else." Ryan looked up for a second, again correctly interpreting what she meant; that it was too important to do it for the sake of Seth. Grateful for her tact and understanding, Ryan simply nodded in acknowledgment.

"And you know," she continued with a sudden impish glint in her eyes, "Harbor puts on great musicals." Ryan's face dropped in abject horror, as if he'd just walked in on his parents getting biblical, "Seth talks," she elaborated.

"Not for much longer." Ryan muttered jokingly back in response, before leaning back casually against the rail that ran around the edge of elevator and taking the final sip of his coffee. Two seconds later, Kirsten and Ryan's contented silence was rudely interrupted by the harsh shriek of metal on metal and a forceful jerk that sent them both stumbling.

"Oh my," said Kirsten as Ryan dropped his empty cup and she narrowly avoided spilling the remains of her coffee over them.

"What the hell was that?" asked Ryan, his uneasiness clearly apparent.

"I don't know... I'm sure it's nothing," she said trying to switch into maternal mode and finding it a little difficult. The elevator juddered again and the lights shut out. In the sudden darkness Kirsten and Ryan simultaneously uttered words that in any other circumstances they would not dream of letting slip in front of the other.

"Sorry," they both said at once, as the dim light of the emergency light flickered into life, revealing their nervous smiles and easing the tension slightly.

"I won't tell if you won't," Kirsten said, as she stepped to the control panel of the elevator and opened it to reveal a telephone handset. Lifting the receiver, Kirsten was dismayed to hear a mix of white noise, instead of the friendly voice of a call center operator she was expecting.

"What's wrong?" Ryan asked nervously, seeing her face fall.

"Uh, I'm not sure," Kirsten replied, pressing the connection button experimentally to no avail. She hung up the phone, "There's no answer, must be a power problem in the area."

"Power problem? As in, the power that holds this thing up has cut out?" Ryan said, trying to be light, despite feeling anything but.

"Hey, Ryan, its okay," she said, seeing his anxiety and debating whether or not to reach out a hand to twitching arm, before deciding not to invade the untouched personal space she knew he preferred to maintain, "There's a separate generator for the elevators and the computer server. Trust me, there's no way anyone in this building is going to let their hard drives crash, let alone an elevator," she said, instantly regretting her turn of phrasing.

"Don't say crash," said Ryan, closing his eyes, and stepping into the corner, using the railing as a brace to step up on to the tiny skirting edge around the bottom of the compartment.

"Bad choice of words. But the rest is true; we're safe, just... stuck."

"Or there's a pool of sharks," Ryan said trying to maintain his balance, his eyes still closed.

"There's no pool of sharks. Dad had me do the estimate; it was too expensive," she said gently laying a hand on Ryan's nearest one, his white knuckles gripping the rail tightly. She took it in her own and gently but firmly pulled him away from his wall and sat down on the floor, tugging at him a little in order to get him to join her. With only a little resistance, he followed suit.

"Wait, we should stand, so we can do that jump thing," said Ryan, trying to get his feet under him and stand back up.

"What jump thing?" asked Kirsten, letting go of his hand.

"You know, when a lift... I heard you're supposed to be able jump at the last second and avoid impact."

"How do you know when to jump?" asked Kirsten, secretly rather interested in this tidbit of survival knowledge.

"I don't know. You probably only know when it's too late," Ryan said wearily. He looked at the floor counter flashing on twelve before sliding back down the wall with a sigh and joining Kirsten on the floor, taking up residence in the opposite corner.

"It'll be fine," said Kirsten authoritatively, but feeling only marginally more enthused by their current situation than Ryan was.

"We're on the twelfth floor, the ceiling's about twice my height, which means we've got about 144 feet to plummet. Definitely doomed."

"Are you six foot?" Kirsten said doubtfully, considering it for the first time.

"5"9. Ish," Ryan admitted with a small hint of bashfulness, "About 141 feet to plummet. Makes all the difference."

"You're good at math."

"I'm at good at arithmetic, geometry, that stuff. When it gets into all calculus and algebra, the less tangible stuff... well, I'm less good."

"I'm sure you've got it in you," Kirsten said encouragingly.

"Up until Harbor I thought a Matrix was a movie. Uhh, oh no," Ryan stuttered as the life creaked ominously, closing his eyes tight.

"Hey, don't worry, it's fine," Kirsten said, her reassuring tone belying the flip-flop feeling in her stomach.

"Did you not see Speed?" asked Ryan sarcastically, making her laugh, "It's not funny. There's probably a crazy disgruntled ex-employee of your dad's demanding his ransom right now."

"You're right," Kirsten chipped in, pleased to see that Ryan was loosening up a little, "We're doomed."

Ryan opened his eyes and they shared a smile.

"I didn't know you were claustrophobic. You should have said, we could have taken the stairs," Kirsten said, holding out a bagel to Ryan.

"I'm not," he replied, taking it, although more out of politeness than actual hunger, "I don't like heights. Or hanging perilously over them in an automated closet."

"Oh. Why?" she asked, unable to stem her curiosity.

"It's silly," said Ryan, deliberately taking a huge bite of his bagel in attempt to avoid answering. Registering his unwillingness to share, Kirsten decided to tell her own story.

"Until I was eight, I was scared of cookies."

"Cookies?!" Ryan mumbled incredulously through a mouthful of chocolate chip goodness.

"Uh-huh. Actually, I was scared of cookie monster, you know from Sesame Street? The way his eyes moved, it really used to freak me out. I used to run out of the room whenever he was on, and it kind of spread to cookies. I couldn't even walk down the aisle at the store," said Kirsten admitted, ignoring Ryan's spreading grin, "It's stupid, just talking about it makes me feel kind of funny, because I can remember being so frightened of him. Still always liked Grover though, which was strange 'cause they look kind of alike."

"How did you get over it?" asked Ryan equally amused and intrigued as he picked at his bagel.

"This really evil kid at school bought her cookie monster stuffed toy to show and tell and then spent all lunchtime chasing me round the yard with it. Then she fell over and chipped her front teeth and she just looked so ridiculous, I don't know, I just stopped being afraid. Good thing too, my parents were this close to sending me to therapy."

Kirsten took a bite of her bagel before asking as nonchalantly as possible, "So what's your story? Why don't you like heights?"

Ryan hesitated, reluctant to share. Sensing his misgivings, Kirsten instantly felt bad for letting her curiosity get the better of her, "Sorry. It's not really any of my business," she said.

"No, it's fine. I jumped off a diving board, that was way too high for a dare," Ryan whistled and mimicked an explosion.

"Ouch," said Kirsten, wincing at the thought of it.

"I had these massive bruises down the back of my legs for like a fortnight. Mom went ballistic with Trey, for talking me into it then me for not standing up to him. Only time she ever laid a hand on me."

Though she instantly tried to hide it, Ryan couldn't help but notice the look of surprise that flashed across Kirsten's face. Even though she knew it was wrong to do so, Kirsten couldn't help it, she had always assumed that Dawn had hit Ryan. She knew that his mother's boyfriends had, but how hard and how often was something known only to Ryan and to lesser extent, Sandy. She figured Ryan would tell her if and when he was ready. Until then, she'd just try to focus on the future, not the past. Hopefully it would involve power restoration and possibly a burly engineer or two.

* * *

An hour later there was no sign of any engineers, burly or otherwise. Kirsten had called the reception on her cell phone and had been assured that they would be back on solid ground before lunchtime, but her patience was dwindling. Ryan seemed to have accepted his fate and was dozing in the corner.

Kirsten sighed and leant back against the wall.

"God, I could use a cigarette, " she muttered to herself. At the sound of her voice, Ryan opened his eyes and looking admonishingly at her, his eyebrows raising a good half an inch in surprise.

"I thought you were asleep," she said, seeing him eyeballing her.

"I thought you hated smoking," he chided.

"I do," she said, embarrassed at being busted by a teenager, "It's a filthy, evil disgusting habit, that pollutes the environment and shortens your life-span and sometimes I miss it so much I would run through the South Coast Plaza naked for one drag," she admitted, causing Ryan to raise a small smile.

"It took me three attempts, an industrial amount of nicotine patches and the best part of a year to quit for good. And it's a good job I did, because Seth came along soon after."

"Mom smoked with me," Ryan said, a little more rueful than he intended, "Probably why I'm stunted."

"You're not stunted," Kirsten said resolutely.

"I'm smaller than Seth," he persisted.

"Seth's not that tall, he's just... gangly. Like Bambi. Plus there's the hair."

"That's true," Ryan acknowledged, "But Trey's still like a foot taller than me."

Ryan said before lapsing into silence. Sensing he had something on his mind, Kirsten pressed him for information.

"What?" she asked simply. Ryan looked at her uncertainly.

"Promise not to go mad?" he said, aware he'd passed the point of no return.

"This sounds ominous," replied Kirsten, "Should I be worried?"

"Don't think so," said Ryan. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and laid them on the floor next to Kirsten. After a moment he looked up at her, trying to work out was she was thinking from her expressionless face, "Are you mad?" he asked, with an unmistakable hint of anxiety audible in his voice.

"I'm not saying I approve, but, no I'm not mad," she said kindly, "Why would I be mad?"

"You know, because you I lied about quitting. Well, sort of. I did quit. I guess I started again."

"Like I said, it took me three times."

"I guess I missed it more than I thought I did," Ryan admitted.

"It's fine, Ryan," Kirsten reassured him, although Ryan looked unconvinced, "Like I said, I know it's not easy."

Kirsten leant forward and took the pack from the floor. She opened up the packet of cigarettes, took two out and handed one to Ryan. He hesitated, not sure whether or not to take it from her.

"I'm going to teach you the secret to my success," said Kirsten, seeing his reluctance. "Take it, it's fine," she continued, nodding reassuringly at him as he reached out for it.

"I tried everything to stop, even hypnosis," she said, picking up the cigarette and smelling it, closing her eyes as she breathed in the long-missed fragrance of tobacco, "Nothing worked. I mean nothing, because I had didn't have anything to occupy my hands. I tried chewing biros, but I just kept getting ink everywhere. So eventually, whenever I wanted a cigarette, I'd take one out and start shredding it."

Kirsten picked at one end until she ripped the paper just a little, "But I had to do it all in one strip," as she carefully peeled the paper away in a spiral, "If I did it, I'd put fifty cents in a jar and at the end of the week, I'd spend the money on a magazine, or a round of doughnuts or something," she said, noticing with satisfaction as Ryan followed her example and started work on his cigarette.

"What happened if you ripped it?" he asked, his face screwed up in concentration.

"I'd put the money in another jar and drop it in a charity box. The local animal shelter in particular did very well out of me on bad days," she quipped, "By the time I'd quit properly, I used some of the money I saved to give regularly. Then I couldn't start again, because I couldn't afford to do both."

"Sounds good. Hey!" Ryan exclaimed, holding up a spiral of paper, "All in one."

"First time too, very impressive. But just you try and do it when you're hungry or before a test, it's not so easy."

"I bet," said Ryan as he picked up a second and went to work.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, they were out of cigarettes and hunger had really begun to set in. Even the two little piles of shredded tobacco and paper that were all that remained of Ryan's cigarettes was beginning to look appealing.

"Trey would hate this," said Ryan, thinking out loud.

"Yeah?" asked Kirsten, wondering how it must feel to be a claustrophobic in jail and deciding not to bring it up.

"Uh-huh. Not that he'd admit it; he's not a big talker."

"A stoic Atwood, imagine that," she teased, ignoring Ryan's patented sideways glance.

"We're the Carraways of California," he said, shifting his position on the floor yet again in an effort to get comfortable.

"The who?" asked Kirsten, following suit.

"Nick Carraway, The Great Gatsby. Doesn't talk much," Ryan explained.

"If you can't say something nice, don't say it at all," quoted Kirsten, "Bambi," she elaborated, "Again. I love that movie."

"I always liked Dumbo," said Ryan contemplatively.

"Oh no, it's too much too sad," Kirsten exclaimed, "It always made me cry. When they take his mother, oh!" she said theatrically, clasping her hands to her chest, "It just breaks my heart."

"It's a cartoon. People don't cry at cartoons," Ryan teased her, "Not sane people, anyway."

"Spoken like someone who's never seen Watership Down," she shot back.

"I saw that when I was little, it scared the hell out of me, I had to stop watching it."

"It's a cartoon. People don't get scared by cartoons," Kirsten taunted, mimicking Ryan.

"This person does. The bit with the rabbits in the blocked up burrows? That's really scary stuff. It even freaked out Trey."

"How old is he? A few years older than you, right?" Kirsten inquired, hoping she wouldn't send him into monosyllabic mode.

"Trey?" Kirsten nodded, "Uh, nearly twenty two," said Ryan, making a mental note remember to send him something for his birthday, "When we lived in Fresno I used to drive him crazy. He'd be trying to be cool with his friends and I'd be chasing him around like a shadow wanting piggy-back rides."

"You used to live in Fresno?" Kirsten asked, again struck by how little she really knew about Ryan's life. He nodded.

"Pre-Dad. We moved to Chino afterwards. Mom wanted a fresh start," he said snorting at the irony in spite of himself, "I don't even know where she is now."

"Must have been hard," said Kirsten, making a conscious decision not dwell on Dawn's possible whereabouts, "Seth cried for like a week when we left Berkeley."

"The worst part was leaving Dad," Ryan said. It was strange, but even now, he felt the need to defend his father, "He wasn't a bad person, he just did some bad things," he added.

Kirsten nodded understandingly, privately saddened both by Ryan's loyalty to a man who hadn't shown him the same courtesy and his unconscious use of the past tense when talking about it. As pleased as she was that Ryan was being open with her, she could sense his awkwardness and felt that the confined space of an elevator stranded half-way up an office that brought out his restless side was neither the time nor the place to go down this road. Instead, she dropped some information she knew that would be of interest to him.

"We all do things we regret. You're not the only one in the family with a record, you know," she said, her eyes dancing.

"Sandy?" Ryan guessed. Kirsten nodded. "Huh," he said, not entirely surprised by the disclosure.

"And not just him, I've had my fair share of adventures. Some would say more than a fair share," she added, amused by the way Ryan's jaw dropped, "My early twenties are a little blurry. Or purple hazy. I did some pot. I also did some naked protesting."

"Really?!" Ryan asked, thoroughly enjoying the turn the conversation had taken and trying not to let the image of naked Kirsten fix itself in his mind.

"Are you shocked?" Kirsten probed, secretly hoping he was. She had no desire to be seen as boring mom.

"Little bit," Ryan replied, "So you and Sandy were hippies?"

"Why do you think Dad doesn't like him?" she said, "He didn't really get it; which I can kind of understand, things had pretty much wound down by the time we went to San Francisco."

"You really did all that?" Ryan questioned her, "The whole Hashbury, wearing flowers in your hair stuff?"

"The whole shebang," she confirmed, "It was fun while it lasted. Which wasn't long. By the time we got there, the real hippie thing was long over; just a lot of kids like us trying to convince ourselves we could escape the inevitable by smoking pot and not washing. We moved to Berkeley afterwards. We had Seth, then a few years later, my mom got sick and we moved back here."

"You must really miss her," said Ryan, his thoughts drifting once more to his own mother.

"It's hard," Kirsten acknowledged, not wanting to think about it too much or where a conversation on mothers might lead. She let the silence permeate once again.

"I miss Mom," said Ryan softly after a moment. Sensing Kirsten's gaze on him, he looked down, "I know it's stupid, after everything that happened."

"Of course it isn't," Kirsten said instinctively. Ryan looked less than convinced.

"You know for Christmas? She sent me some of my stuff," he said, his bitterness clear. Kirsten bit her tongue and counted to five, afraid of what she might say.

"Oh, and a CD," Ryan added after a moment.

"Well that's pretty cool," said Kirsten honestly, relieved that Dawn wasn't entirely lacking in sensitivity.

"It still had the security tag on it," Ryan added, embarrassed. He pulled his knees into his chest and rested his chin on them, making him appear five years younger in one small action.

"Hey, " said Kirsten gently, knowing that Ryan must be hurting and trying not to let her anger show, "At least you know she was thinking of you."

"I guess," considered Ryan, not bothering to mention that the handwriting on the card that had come with the parcel has been unmistakably A.J.'s or how much seeing it had hurt him. Yet despite the gnawing ache inside of him, he couldn't help it, he still loved her and still felt the need to justify her behavior to Kirsten, in the hope that it somehow might make it easier to do the same to himself.

"She wasn't always like that, you know. Sad," he said eventually, "I mean, she always drank. But before, at least I remember her being happy. Then Dad went away. Then I guess she went too."

Afraid to say the wrong thing, Kirsten took a moment before responding.

"Ryan, I know it's not the same, but you know you can always talk to me, don't you?" she ventured, hoping she wasn't pressing him.

"Uh-huh," he said reflexively, before adding, "Thanks."

"Ryan," said Kirsten, locking her eyes on to him until he met her gaze. "I mean it. About anything. And I won't tell the others."

"Thank you," said Ryan gratefully, before looking down again, the sincerity of Kirsten's words meaning more to him than the offer itself.

"Kirsten?" he whispered softly after an impossibly long moment of quiet.

"Yes, sweetheart?" she replied, slightly startled by Ryan's use of her name to address her directly. She couldn't remember him ever having done so before.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, his voice still small as he looked up at her.

"Of course," said Kirsten certainly, her own voice more calm than she felt.

"What did she say to you? When she left?"

"Your Mom?" she asked, a little taken back by the question. Ryan nodded. "She said... she said sorry," hoping he would accept the lie more easily than she told it.

"No, she didn't," Ryan said immediately, seeing straight through Kirsten's defenses, "She only ever said that when she was drunk," He shrugged a little and smiled, "Thanks anyway."

"Doesn't mean she didn't love you, Ryan, " she said, before correcting herself, "That she doesn't love you."

"I guess. Just not enough."

Kirsten looked at the heartbroken expression on Ryan's face as he pulled his knees in tighter to his chest and felt as though she'd just personally pulled Dumbo away from his mother.

"I'm sorry," she said eventually, feeling hopelessly inadequate.

"It's okay. I guess some people aren't really wired to be parents," he stated, as if by saying so, it would somehow turn his mother's departure into a purely rational decision rather than a selfish one.

"That's what she said," Kirsten said softly, hoping it was the right thing to say.

"She did?" Ryan said, this time knowing she was telling the truth.

"Yeah. She said she wanted you to have a real family," Kirsten said, bending the truth a little, "And she asked us to take care of you. And then she went."

"Oh," said Ryan, his expression unfathomable.

"She said she that you deserved more," Kirsten said, hoping she didn't sound too patronizing, that she wasn't saying too much.

"Oh," said Ryan again. He sighed, before pushing his legs back out in front of him, "So did she."

"I hope she finds it," Kirsten said genuinely, surprising both Ryan and herself.

* * *

They sat in contented silence for another twenty minutes before the elevator whirred back into life and finally continued its descent to the ground floor. Before the doors slid open, Ryan turned and looked at Kirsten standing beside him.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, glad to be back on solid ground.

"You're welcome," Kirsten replied as she turned to look at him.

"I don't just mean for today," Ryan added, for once, not dropping his gaze as he spoke. Touched by his words, it took a moment for Kirsten to know what to say in reply.

"I wouldn't change anything you know, Ryan," she said at length, "Not a thing."

"Not even me burning down the house?" he joked as the lift doors opened and they stepped out into the lobby.

"Not even that," she said, as grateful as Ryan to breathe in fresh air again.

"You're lying," Ryan said light-heartedly as he fell naturally in step next to Kirsten as they walked out past the plush sofas and another anonymous dapper businessman.

"Yeah, I am," Kirsten admitted, putting her arm around Ryan for a well-timed brief, unresisted hug before letting go and stepping into the automatic revolving doors.

Ryan shrugged, as he followed her through the doors and out into the sunshine.

"Oh well," he said with a smile, "Nobody's perfect."

* * *

__

_Days  
What are days for?  
Days are where we live.  
They come, they wake us  
Time and time over.  
They are to be happy in:  
Where can we live but days?_

_Ah, solving that question  
Brings the priest and the doctor  
In their long coats  
Running over the fields._

_Philip Larkin_

__

* * *

Review at will. Hell, Citrus me if you like!


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